Dirty Little Secret
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: Kurt has his first wet dream about Blaine. Pre-Klaine, set soon after Baby It's Cold Outside.


**Author's Notes: **This is a thank-you story for my amazing friend and beta, **leangrypeanut** (go read her stories if you haven't yet. No, seriously, go! They're absolutely stunning). It's obviously smutty, but with an angsty undertone. What can I say... it's Kurt. And sex.

The prompt was: "Kurt has his first wet dream about Blaine. Pre-Klaine, set soon after _Baby It's Cold Outside_."

There will be a companion fic for this story soon, written by **Stut_ter** (do I need to say that I'm sure it will be HOT?), and then hopefully a third piece by **leangrypeanut herself**, so be on the lookout! Thank you, girls, for help with this one!

Enjoy and tell me what you think! :)

* * *

><p><strong>DIRTY LITTLE SECRET<strong>

_Thank god it's break_, Kurt thinks as he finishes adding the last Christmas touches to his room. Saying goodbye to Blaine just yesterday, he couldn't imagine how he'd survive two full weeks without seeing him once. Now, even with the longing already rooted deep in every single cell of his body, he's infinitely grateful for a reason to stay away. If not for the break, he would have to look Blaine in the eyes every day, and he's pretty sure he'd be absolutely unable to do it right now. Not after what's happened. Not after last night.

Kurt flops on his bed, finally giving in to the temptation to think about this night coherently, deliberately, if only for a few minutes. Not that he has much choice. The pictures and memories have been haunting him all morning and the amount of energy he's had to spend fighting them, fighting himself, could have definitely been put to better use. If he could focus on anything else, anyway.

Kurt closes his eyes in the silence of his room and immediately he's _flooded_ with images of _him_. Blaine's mouth with the sinfully tempting line of upper lip. His beautiful eyes framed by impossibly long eyelashes. The gently curved hollow under his left ear, the slightly stubbled line of his jaw, the arch of his collarbone peeking from under the half-unbuttoned uniform shirt. His strong palms, long fingers caressing Kurt's skin, drawing the symphony of sounds no one had ever heard before.

He doesn't even have to focus to feel the gentle pull of that stubble on his lips, to hear Blaine's voice, lower and rougher than ever before, to experiencethe waves of sensations sliding along his oversensitive skin down, _down_, tracing his body with fingertips of need.

Kurt groans as his body reacts to the sensory overload flowing through his brain in a seemingly never ending stream. This is not supposed to happen! It never has before, this part of his life has always been dormant and boring; barely _there_ at all. Sure, he's masturbated a few times, mostly just to check what the big deal was, but honestly, he still doesn't get it. Or at least _didn't_ until now. The lukewarm pleasure of sexual gratification was fine, but why was everybody so excited about it, treating it like it made the world spin? So he didn't understand, not until last night.

This terrible, mortifying, agonizingly beautiful night.

The night when his mind decided to replay their rehearsal in the senior commons, the whole _Baby It's Cold Outside_ skit, with great attention to detail. Except these weren't the details Kurt remembered from two days ago. They were… expanded. Enriched. More _detailed_. What's more, his mind seems to have been equipped with a dream recorder all of a sudden, because Kurt can see it all again and again and again now, clear and unchanged, like he never could with any other dream.

He closes his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>The first notes flow sweetly from the boom box and Blaine moves gracefully, gesturing for Kurt to start. So he sings, easily falling into the flirty persona, acting it all out. Blaine acts along, leaning towards him as he sings, laying his hands right on Kurt's, following him across the room. The way Blaine's tongue curls around words like <em>beautiful_ and _please don't go_ makes dream-Kurt shiver and his pupils blow wider, and Blaine can clearly see it, because he turns the acting up a notch. He's a damn good actor too. He looks into Kurt's eyes with heat that looks absolutely genuine, presses into his shoulder as they sit on the back of that leather couch, brushes against him over the piano bench. _

_Dream-Kurt feels flustered and excited, but he'll be damned if he betrays it, so he just acts, acts it all out the best he can. Which is really good if he says so himself. It's like a battle of talents now, waiting to see who will break character first. They challenge each other – standing just a foot away by that fireplace, personal space getting ever smaller. Closer, ever closer, until they are mere inches from each other, leaning over the back of the couch, and breathing is suddenly a skill Kurt must focus on because of Blaine's adorable pout and his wandering eyes that seem to drink in Kurt's lips more than once. They're _so close_ now and _wow_, how did that happen? How is it still happening, their voices gone and their lips gravitating closer, even closer, _there_?_

_And oh, how his mind had gone off the script here, because then__ it doesn't matter, nothing matters except the warmth of Blaine's lips on his own, except his tongue sliding easily into Kurt's mouth and dragging over his, and his teeth nipping Kurt's lower lip and oh _damn_, it shouldn't be so fucking hot. Music long forgotten, they scramble to get on the leather couch, tired of the chase. And they pretend to still be in character, but how can they be if Kurt feels, _really_ feels this fire that he never knew, the desire to be closer, to loosen Blaine's tie and trace the contours of his neck with his tongue, _taste_ the smoothness of his skin. Oh god, what has gotten into him? But he doesn't fight it, he can't. Nor does he want to. He just reaches up – and suddenly they lie down on the couch, Blaine pressed over him, all smooth warm skin and lean muscles, tie already off._

_When or how or even why are not important, not when Blaine is mouthing Kurt's neck in earnest, his cheek a little rough already, his tongue slick and hot against the point where Kurt's heartbeat races in its excited staccato. And when he sucks at the thin skin there, thinking is overrated, really, because sensations are all that matters now. Kurt feels the pressing need to learn this new language as fast as he can, diligent student that he is, so he dives into it. Like repeating new words, he copies Blaine's movements, focusing on that hollow under his ear, the scratchy span of skin under the jaw, so delightfully rough on Kurt's soft lips. But it's still too little, he needs more, not really sure what more is, so he starts unbuttoning Blaine's shirt, needy and whining low in his throat, impatient to put his mouth everywhere _right now_. _

_The heat in Kurt's body rises, the buzzing just under his skin feels like he's on fire and he realizes the harsh breaths above him are Blaine's, as are the slightly rough palms under his shirt, and it makes him moan like he never has before, because he never had any reason to. But now – oh, now Blaine's fingers playing his skin like they played the keys of that piano just a moment ago, are reason enough. And then there are Blaine's eyes, glazed and blown almost entirely black, and his soft gasps as he moves his hips against Kurt's thigh to… to… Oh gods, Blaine's cock is against his thigh. Hard and hot and _rutting_. And it's enough for Kurt to groan loudly and feel his own hips move, seemingly of their own volition, seeking something, something…_

"_Blaine, please. _Please_…" Kurt doesn't know what he asks for with this broken, breathless voice that can't belong to him, so different, so low and raw it's scratchy in his throat, and these hips, restlessly searching for _something_. But Blaine must know, must be better at this new language, because he just moves his right hand down Kurt's chest, smoothing over his stomach slowly, taking away all breath left in his lungs, and then, and _then_…_

_Then Blaine's sure hand slides over the fly of Kurt's uniform pants, over his _ohmygodsohard!_ cock and oh, so _this_ is what he was begging for, this is exactly the right thing, and… and…_

* * *

><p>Real-Kurt sits up rapidly on the bed. No! No way, he can't do this again! And now he's not even asleep, oh dear god, he's such a <em>pervert<em>. He can try to tell himself that it didn't count when he was just dreaming, that he couldn't help waking up with his hand in his pajama pants, in the midst of a mind-blowing orgasm. But this? He almost did it again, and there are no handy little excuses this time. He's so hard it hurts and two, three strokes would be enough to finish it, probably just as spectacularly. But no, _no_! He can't do this to Blaine, lusting after him like he's some sex object – he's Kurt's _friend_, his confidante. And…

What if he knew? What if he somehow learnt that Kurt was imagining him _this way_? Surely he would be disgusted, disappointed, maybe even angry. It would be the end of their friendship, since there's _no way _Blaine would want to have anything to do with someone like him. Because if Kurt's crush on Finn last year was such a big deal, even though all he imagined was singing serenades and holding hands; if wanting to sing a duet with Sam made him predatory, then this was _so much worse_. Kurt has to hide it somewhere deep in his mind, close the door and throw away the key, because Blaine can _never_ know.

So thank god for Christmas break.

Except his mind, having found the rebellious streak Kurt had no idea was there, refuses to comply. It's as if that dream – still remembered vividly in every tiny detail, thank you very much – opened a Pandora's box of impure thoughts, images and desires. Kurt feels as if his body is waking from a lifelong sleep and now is trying to make up for all that lost time. He does everything he can to be distracted, throwing himself into every possible activity during Christmas preparations and then the holiday itself, and later even cleaning the house from top to bottom, but nothing helps. He is perpetually edgy, irritated, and every time his mind is idle even for a moment, it gravitates towards those amber eyes and sinfully beautiful lips, which makes him painfully aroused in seconds. And then, well, he has to do _that_, you know (pointedly not thinking about anyone, and most certainly _not_ Blaine), because it just wouldn't go away otherwise, and _why the hell can't he turn it off_?

Kurt fights it with heroic efforts of will, stubbornly banishing every sexy (_dirty_) thought and image, and by the end of the break he's got it mostly under control – at least if he makes sure he's busy enough. Nights are a different matter entirely and all too often he wakes up ecstatic, blissful, pulsing with release, and _guilty_. More and more guilty every time it happens. But he hasn't found anything he can do about that yet, except not sleeping at all, which isn't exactly practical.

But at least during the day he can keep himself in check. And even when he sees Blaine's face, he can act like always – he knows, he's been practicing with a picture and his imagination. So once they meet again, he should be fine, as long as he doesn't touch Blaine or stand too close to him. And remembers not to stare at what he keeps dreaming about – Blaine's lips, his hands, the tantalizing line of his throat. And definitely not to focus on Blaine's voice. Damn. It's not going to be easy, is it?

But he can do it. He'll be fine with his dirty little secret, and he'll make it up to Blaine somehow. His friend will never, ever know just how creepy, how perverted Kurt really is, even though he doesn't want to, he'd do anything not to feel like this. There may be trouble if they ever talk about anything remotely sexual – oh, that could be a disaster! Thankfully, though, this is something they never discuss, so he's safe.

He's safe.


End file.
